


Just A Favor

by candyvan



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyvan/pseuds/candyvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor needs a favor and Oliver's more than willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Favor

Connor Walsh is everything television tells you about gay youths. He's smug and snarky, charming and elegant, and he has excellent fashion sense. He always wears his hair in a perfectly gelled fashion, and his skin is crystal clear and baby soft. He hangs around with the prom queen and he sneaks into gay bars on the weekends. He's the guy with the perfectly placed cutting remark and eyebrows so well trimmed that, when positioned correctly, can make you regret your entire life.

Oliver is- well, he isn't that, that's for sure.

He's awkward and lanky, tripping over his long legs anytime he stands up, as if forgetting the length of them every time. His eyesight is horrible, and his glasses are large and dorky. They make his eyes look wide and owlish, and not in the cute way. His only notoriety during his three years of high school is when a substitute confused his name for Olive and people wouldn't stop comparing him to the their sickly green texture for a week.

They're completely different, and while Oliver is well aware of just how gorgeous and perfect Connor is, Oliver is sure the boy doesn't even know his name.

Which is why he's adequately surprised when he steps out of fourth period to find Connor Walsh leaning elegantly against his locker, the very description of beautiful. Oliver thinks the over cast skies part slightly, just to shine light upon his face. The wind picks up, and Connor's hair flows perfectly in the light breeze, like a GQ model.

Oliver ducks his head to hide his face, trying to make himself small even though he easily has an inch over the other boy. Oliver slides between bodies and slinks around groups of chattering people in the hallway, the only time he's graceful in his life is when he tries to slink around everyone else. When he makes it through the crowd and to his locker, he's surprised to find Connor still leaning quietly against it, and Oliver has to fight the urge to rub at his eyes, certain that this is all some strange hallucination brought upon by too much studying for the SAT's.

With nothing else to do, as Oliver needs to get into his locker, which Connor is still propped up against, Oliver coughs slightly, unsure what to do. He's never actually spoken to Connor, not beyond the one time the boy asked him if he could borrow a pencil when they shared a class together in eighth grade. Connor smiled so kindly when he asked, and his long eyelashes fluttered so prettily, that Oliver didn't know what he'd done until he looked at his hands and realized he'd given Connor his only pencil.

Like he had done so many years ago, Connor turns to him, smile still large, teeth still straight and white and perfect, and eyes still wide and kind and every shade of chocolate brown imaginable. Oliver gulps.

“Hey,” Connor says lightly, and his voice is a warmth that sends heat licking to his lower abdomen, “Didn't see you there.”

“Um,” Oliver says intelligently, “You're leaning on my locker.”

Oliver mentally flinches at himself. _You're leaning on my locker?_ Could he have been any more rude? Oliver blushes, mouth opening to let apologies fall out, but is shocked into silence by Connor's laugh.

“Of course I am,” he smiles blindingly, like tiny lights are imbedded in his gums. He pulls himself to full height and steps away from the locked in one elegant motion, “I had to get your attention _somehow_.”

Oliver chokes on a shocked snort, tongue twisting every word he knows until all he can say is, “Right.”

It comes out too rushed, flying from his mouth in a stutter of too much teeth and tongue and it sounds garbled and wrong, but Connor smiles at it, keeps smiling at Oliver with the softest eyes imaginable, like he's _adorable_.

Oliver has to try his combination two times too many, can't seem to focus and get it right with Connor peering over his shoulder, just happy and smiling and so gorgeous that it makes Oliver's head spin.

“Um, can I help you? Somehow?” Oliver asks haltingly, dumping his books in his locker with a sagging relief. He grabs his Calculus and Physics books, needing them for fifth and sixth period.

“Yeah,” Connor says casually, smile still firmly tacked on when Oliver peeks over his shoulder. He catches Oliver's eyes and his smile turns sharper somehow, flickers into a smirk in the blink of an eye, “I have a virus on my computer, a real nasty one. I asked around and apparently you're the go to guy for computer issues.”

Oliver gulps quickly, trying hard not to think about _what_ Connor was doing to get a virus. His voice is a squeak as he nods, “I-I could fix that, yeah.”

“Great,” Connor says, voice light and bordering between interested and carefree. His eyes rove over Oliver's body slowly, and Oliver feels as if he's being stripped bare. “I can pay you for your trouble.”

Oliver jerks so fast that he hits his head on the metal of his locker, a sharp flare of pain blinding inside his head. He curses loudly and grabs at it, trying to rub the pain out and messing up his hair in the process. He hears a chuckle, something deep and amused, and he opens his clenched eyes to see Connor watching him with a raised eyebrow and a slanted smile. There's no evidence of the chuckle, of the lapse in control from the perfect boy in front of him, and Oliver would be sure he imagined it if it wasn't for the mirth in Connor's eyes.

“That won't be, uh, necessary,” Oliver says quickly, pulling his hand back to look for blood. There's none, just the fragile remains of his broken ego.

Connor shrugs, “If you say so. I drive the black Audi out front. Meet me there after school?”

Oliver widens his eyes, mouth going slack, “You want me to come over to your house?”

“Yeah?” Connor quirks a brow, losing his easy going persona for the first time in their conversation, appearing genuinely confused. He doesn't say anything else, and though Oliver is sure Connor has never experienced an awkward silence, this might just be his first.

“Um,” Oliver clears his throat, “Okay. Sure.”

Connor's smile is back in place as if it had never left, and his hand is firm and warm when he grips Oliver's shoulder as he says goodbye, walking off to class like the hallway is his catwalk. Oliver watches him leave, eyes trailing after him as he walks and walks, catching Connor's smirk and wink as he turns the corner and leaves his sight.

Oliver's blush is red hot at that and he spends the rest of lunch in a haze, imagining Connor's smile and replaying the conversation again and again, imagining himself more suave and cool and ignoring the licks of embarrassment that heat against his chest.

He walks around as if on a cloud for the rest of fifth and sixth period, staring out windows and watching the clock and feeling every bit of the foolish, pathetic loser he is. Connor just wants him to get rid of a virus, he tells himself. It's not like he was invited out to a movie or anything.

No matter how many times he tells himself that though, Oliver can't stop his shy smile or nervous excitement, and he's out in the parking lot as soon as the bell rings, fixing his glasses so he can try to catch sight of Connor or his car. Oliver doesn't really know a lot about cars, but he thinks he knows enough to differentiate the logos, and he tries to find the somewhat familiar four, inter looping circles of an Audi somewhere around him.

As the seconds go by, pushed and shoved by other teenagers eager to escape school, Oliver's excitement dims. He wonders if it was all some strange prank, if Connor and his group of friends are hiding somewhere, laughing at Oliver while he stands here alone. Oliver curses how foolish he was, yipping after Connor's attention like an overeager puppy. He checks his watch, the hands telling him that his bus has surely left by now, and sighs, not looking forward to the long walk home where all he can do is recount how much of a failure he is.

Oliver turns to begin his two mile walk, only to be stopped by a hand at his elbow.

“Hey,” Connor's voice is as cool and chill inducing as it always is and when Oliver turns, he sees the face he's been imagining for two periods and all of lunch. It's truly pathetic how Oliver's face lights up like a puppy that's being paid attention, but he can't help it, too relieved at being wrong to care, “I couldn't find you! Come on, I'm parked over here.”

Oliver willingly lets Connor drag him through the throng of people, eyes focused on the hand still gripping his elbow. They're strong, Oliver notes, with pristine, clear nails and perfect cuticles. Oliver's own fingernails are chipped from biting at them, dirt under the edge like it's a stain. Connor's grip is tight, and he looks back every few seconds to make sure Oliver is still there. It fills him with a warmth he's never experienced before.

It's easy to watch Connor wave and smile at people as he follows him, completely in awe of his very being. People's eyes follow them, like Connor is the sun and Oliver is a lone space rock lucky enough to be pulled into his orbit.

Connor's messenger bag hangs off of one shoulder, immaculately clean and weighed down with books. Oliver knows that Connor has a 5.0 from all of his honors and AP classes, knows that Connor is ahead of him in the race for valedictorian, but he wonders now what it is that Connor studies so hard for. He's never considered it before, but now he finds himself curious, picturing the boy in front of him as a world renown surgeon or a politician.

He'd be good at anything he sets his mind to, Oliver is sure, with his charismatic smile and quick wit.

Connor stops them next to a sleek black car, kept in perfect condition like everything in Connor's life. It shines in the afternoon sun, and Oliver has the strange urge to run his hand across the hood. Conner digs into his backpack, pulling out a single set of car keys with nothing else on them.

Oliver has a house key in his pocket, and on it he also has a second spare house key, the mail box key, a key to his grandmother's house, and a key to his mom's car. He thinks of his key chain, decorated with silly things his family has gotten for him from vacations and TV show merchandise, thinks of his keys with their strange designs engraved at Home Depot, and, for the first time, he realizes that Connor's item's aren't perfect, they're cold.

It's the first time in Oliver's life that he feels something akin to sympathy for the boy in front of him, unable to understand why Connor keeps anything personal away from him.

The car unlocks with a beep and Oliver quickly pulls open the door, inhaling the scent of new car despite the light trail of dust on the dashboard, and decides to put the thoughts out of his mind.

“Put your seat belt on,” Oliver chides automatically when Connor moves to start the car. He smiles as Connor rolls eyes at the demand, all the while doing it anyway.

“Bossy thing, aren't you?” Connor winks at him.

Olive, not being able to reply to that with his tongue in a tangled knot, decides to follow his own advice and puts his seat belt on, telling himself that he'll need it for whatever ride Connor has in mind.

* * *

Connor's house, like everything else, is large and pristine. The driveway is paved all the way up a hill, enclosed by a tall gate. The house itself is more of a mini mansion than anything, with thick stone columns and ornate architecture. Oliver never thought he'd even see a house like this up close, let alone know somebody who lives in one.

“It's not as nice as our summer home, but it has its perks.” Connor says with an apologetic shrug, and Oliver makes a mental note to never invite Connor over to his tiny, three bedroom, one story house in the suburbs.

Then, he reminds himself that he's only here to fix Connor's computer. Oliver shakes himself, following Connor through the home, gawking at oil paintings and stiff, family photos. If not for the rare personal touch, like the notepad next to a telephone with slanted, cursive writing, and a purple coffee mug with a ring of lipstick on it, Oliver would be certain Connor broke into this place.

Connor leads him past a dining room, two sitting rooms, something called a breakfast nook, and up a long, spiraling stair case. The second floor is as grand as the first, and Oliver is led past room after room, wondering what such a small family could possibly need with so much space.

After five doors, Connor stops suddenly, and Oliver only barely manages to not bump into him. Oliver's grin is nervous when Connor turns to him.

“This is my room.”

“Really?” Oliver asks, looking down the long hallway of doors, “Are you sure?”

Connor just grins and shakes his head at him.

Oliver expected a picture perfect bedroom like something out of a furniture catalog, but what greets him beyond the door is light blue walls, shocking Oliver as the rest of the house that he's seen is entirely white. There's posters on the walls, bands Oliver's never even heard of. There's an acoustic guitar in the corner of the room, hidden behind the wide body of a cello, and both are covered in a thin layer of dust. The closet doors are left open, overflowing with clothes and shoes covering the entire floor of it. There's only one picture of him in the room, resting innocently on the dresser; Connor with his arm wrapped around the shoulder of another guy, someone Oliver recognizes from his football jersey as Aiden Walker.

Oliver stares at the room in awe, looking at all of the pieces of Connor's life that he keeps hidden. It's amazing, he thinks, trying to piece together this chaos with cool and suave Connor Walsh that he knows.

Connor gestures to a large desk in the corner of the room, dark oak surface covered under piles of books, pens, and scrap paper. It's obvious that Connor spends a lot of time here.

“This is a Mac,” Oliver says stupidly, surprised at the tiny, silver thing in the center of the desk. Connor drives an Audi, and he has scarves so soft they have to be imported from Italy. Oliver should have expected he was a Mac user, too. He doesn't have as much experience with Macs as he does with Windows operating systems, but Connor's brown eyes are still so bright and his smile is wide and Oliver finds some untapped reserve of determination to try.

“Yeah, a friend told me they're not supposed to get viruses.” Connor grins cheekily, “Guess I proved them wrong.”

“Anything connected to the internet can get a virus,” Oliver shrugs, setting down his bag and sitting in the plush chair. “Apple products are just newer so it's more difficult.”

“Now, how'd you get to be so smart?” Connor asks, and his grin is teasing with a voice so low that it makes Oliver's stomach clench.

Connor leaves him at that, wandering around somewhere else in the room, closing drawers and shuffling clothes. Oliver cracks his knuckles and opens the small laptop, clenching his hands as he notices Conner in the reflection of the screen. He tries so hard to not look, to focus on the laptop and what Connor asked him to do, but it's hard when his eyes keep jumping to the sight of Connor stripping on the screen.

His arms lift, pulling his sweater up and off, the movement raising the white collared shirt he has underneath. Oliver can see hints of a happy trail if he looks close enough, but the image is gone as quick as it came when Connor lowers his arms again. He begins a slow and tortuous trail of unbuttoning each individual button, deft hands moving gracefully, and Oliver's mouth falls more slack as more and more skin is revealed.

Soon, Oliver can make out the telltale ridges of abs, and almost whines out loud. What seventeen year old has abs? Oliver's life just isn't fair. What cruel fate did he offended to _deserve_ this?

The shirt slips off quickly, Oliver watching the flex and glide of Connor's arm muscles, and when he twists, Oliver can see his hip bones, leaving a trail like an arrow to his pelvis. Oliver can't stop looking, blushing hotter as images flitter through his mind, but then Connor looks up, and Oliver's heart seizes in his chest, pounding loud in his ears. He fears the worst, not sure if he's more afraid of being humiliated or kicked out of the house.

And then, just as Oliver's on the edge of a heart attack, Connor winks at him through his reflection, a dangerous smirk on his full lips.

Oliver forgot, it seems, that boys like Connor know just how many people want them. Oliver takes a deep breath and shifts minutely, trying to secretly rearrange the half mast he has building in his pants.

So as not to tempt himself anymore, Oliver turns the laptop slightly and angels the screen, no longer getting a peak at the Connor Walsh show, and feeling both relieved and saddened by the fact. He works diligently for five minutes, checking every recent download Connor has made, his internet history, and even searching in his most secret of folders. There's nothing that would even suggest a virus. In fact, there's not even any porn sights in Connor's history. It's all just research, news websites and Facebook.

There are a lot of bookmarked websites about defense lawyers and law school programs, and when Oliver gets the courage to look up, he can see that some of the books on Connor's desk are actually law text books. Either Connor wants to be a lawyer, or he's a surprisingly well educated serial killer. Oliver can't tell which, but both would make sense.

Oliver's about ready to turn around and ask Connor what's going on, when suddenly there's warmth at his shoulder, and breathing next to his ear. The perfectly combined smell of woods, herbs, and fruits surrounds him, and Oliver tries to keep his breathing the same so he doesn't look like he's trying to inhale Connor's cologne.

He turns his head slightly and Connor is right there, two inches from his face. It's now that he realizes that Connor has a trail of light freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his dark eyes have specks of yellow around the edge, like someone's shining a flashlight behind his eyes. Oliver could probably count every single eyelash Connor has, if given the time, and he's disturbed by how much he wants to do just that.

“Find anything?” Connor asks, and his breath is fresh and minty.

“Um, no,” Oliver says, shaking his head. He turns back to the screen, barely noticing that Connor is now wearing a slightly too big on him shirt with their football teams name written above the left pectoral, “I found nothing at all actually. This thing is basically in perfect condition. Apple would probably buy it back from you if you needed the money.”

Connor ticks his head to the right, grinning, “Are you calling me poor, Oliver?”

Oliver raises an eyebrow at him and finds his own lips turning up at the corners unconsciously. Connor rolls his eyes at the look.

“Sometime these advertisements pop up randomly. Like this,” Connor leans across him and Oliver freezes as most of Connor's body presses against his arm, a solid line of heat that sends a shock straight to his system. Oliver gulps loudly in the quiet of the room. “See?”

Oliver does, in fact, see a pop up, telling Connor to buy flowers from a local florist for his sweetheart for only twenty dollars.

“You don't have ad block on,” he squeaks, batting Connor's hands away from the keyboard so he can enable it.

“I'm glad you're here to get it turned on then,” Connor says, voice low and Oliver is very aware of the barely-there space between them.

Oliver coughs quietly, because that is either the worst pick up line he's ever heard in his life or he's completely delusional and making everything up. He considers the tiny, microscopic possibility of a guy like Connor sending him _signals_. Oliver's only ever been on one date in his entire life, and he ended up getting the flu for two weeks afterword because his date sneezed in the popcorn. He's not suave and he doesn't have class. He's not the type of guy Connor would even look twice at, let alone flirt with.

So why does it feel like that's what's happening here?

“It should be good to go,” Oliver says nervously, wondering what's going to happen now. His over active imagination runs unbidden in his mind, no matter how many times he tries to squish it down.

“Thanks,” Connor turns to look at him, and it's the kindest, most blinding smile yet. It sucks the air from Oliver's lungs and leaves him struck like a deer caught in headlights. Connor leans closer, until their noses are almost touching and Oliver swears he can taste the mint in Connor's mouth.“You're amazing. I'll give you a ride home- but first, I was wondering if there was another favor you could do for me?”

Oliver's entire body freezes at that. Connor might not watch porn, but Oliver certainly does, and he fears he's seen too many when he imagines where this might be going.

“S-sure,” Oliver nods, and his voice is an airy stutter that makes him wince.

Connor leans back quickly, knocking Oliver off balance. He fixes himself quickly, surprise and shock suffocating him, and when he looks at Connor, he sees that he's typed something into the computer. Oliver leans in close, adjusting his glasses, and his eyes widen at Conner.

“Why are you on the school website?”

“I need you to edit it a bit,” Connor says breezily, “Like a prank. You can do that, right? It's just a small favor.”

Connor says _just a favor_ like most boys would say _just the tip_ and it leaves Oliver off kilter and awkward.

“I- yeah, sure, it'd be easy, but why?” Oliver asks, trying to figure out just what Connor wants from him.

Connor shrugs quickly, and then suddenly he's kneeling on the ground, fitting nicely between Oliver's spread legs, warm and happy. Before Oliver can even figure out what's happening, Connor's face is against his. His lips are soft as they touch Oliver's jaw, caressing his skin so sweetly that Oliver has to shut his eyes at it, all thought gone from his mind.

Connor does it again and again, peppering a neat little row of chaste kisses up and up until he's at the corner of Oliver's lips, teasing as they rest there. Every inch of Oliver's body is on fire, fingernails digging into the foam arm rest of the chair in an effort to keep himself from wrapping them around Connor.

Connor's lips are fire, and they melt against Oliver's easily, turning his entire body into warm butter. It's slow at first, soft and chaste, but then it changes, growing in intensity until it leaves Oliver dizzy, gripping at Connor's shoulder to keep him steady and grounded, to remind him that this isn't a dream. His pulse hammers fast in his ears, heart beating like a sledge hammer trying to escape his ribcage. He feels like he's suffocating, but at the same time, it's as if life is being poured into him.

Connor pulls away first, chuckling as Oliver makes an embarrassing noise of disagreement. Connor stares at him, eyes bright and chest heaving, and Oliver just wants to dive back in, go back to that moment where the world was just them.

“It'd be fun,” Connor breathes into the air between them, smiling as Oliver leans forward in firm agreement, wanting just another taste. He pulls back, just out of reach, “And I'll be fun- if you help me do this.”

Oliver jerks back at that, eyes wide and confused, all warmth drained from his body instantly. Whatever spell Connor was working over him is broken, and now Oliver stars at him with narrowed eyes, confused.

Oliver leans back when Connor tries to kiss him again.

“You don't have to make out with me to get me to do things for you,” Oliver tells him, surprised at how husky his voice sounds. Connor's face drops at that, surprise hitting him like a slap. “I mean- I like kissing you,” God, does he ever, “But I don't want to do it if you're only trying to use me.”

“I'm not using you,” Connor swears quickly, his voice angel soft, “I'm not. I just need you to do this, and you were going to say no and I didn't really know what else to do.”

Oliver raises his eyebrows at Connor, not saying anything. They stare at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to crack, eyes never leaving the others. It'd be easy to give in, to kiss Connor again and do whatever he asks, but this feels more important than getting the chance to make out with Connor Walsh.

“I'm _not_ using you,” Connor finally says again, “I _promise_. Your friend, Jerry? Terry? Him- I would use. Especially since he's better at hacking than you.”

Oliver snorts at that, and Connor's smile is small and sweet as he says, “You're cute in this understated, awkward way and funny and smart in a way I've never been around before, so, yeah, I want you to help me with this, but I want _this_ too.”

His heart stops in his chest at that, brain shutting down and going offline, trying to wrap his head around that. It's easier to just tell himself that Connor is still using him, still playing some strange game where the end result gives him whatever he wants, but his voice is surprisingly sincere, and there's a thumb rubbing soothing circles into Oliver's thigh.

There are three people at their high school better with computer's than Oliver is. They're heads of the AV club, work layout for Yearbook, and lead the Coding club. Oliver knows because he's friends with all three of them, and they have all taught him everything he now knows.

When Connor leans in again, slower this time, Oliver doesn't pull back. He finds himself taking charge of the kiss, Connor going pliant and soft under his lips. He wraps an arm around the back of Connor's neck, pulling him closer until there's hardly any space left between them. He likes the weight of Connor's body pressing against his own, likes how warm and firm he is and how perfectly he fits against him.

Connor's the one to pull away again, lips bruised and full, but he doesn't go far, only gives himself enough space to say, “You don't have to do it, but I'd like it if you would.”

And Oliver finds himself agreeing, even though it's stupid and they might get caught, even if it isn't _actually_ a prank, even if Connor _is_ using him. He finds himself saying anything, so long as Connor goes back to kissing him.

* * *

School the next day is an uproar. Parents and teachers are shocked by the pictures of Mr. Keating's penis that are strewn across the school's website. Kids whisper and gossip about it in the hallways, unable to stop talking about it even in class and teachers are too hooked on the disturbing news to teach. Mrs. Keating refuses to comment on the matter. She sends any student she catches talking about it to detention.

Her favorite students are strangely silent about the event. Michaela, Laurel, Connor and Wes share looks of solidarity between classes and are regularly seen directing sobbing girls to the office to add to the numerous amounts of evidence already against Mr. Keating.

It's the biggest scandal of the year in their state, but Oliver finds it hard to care. No one but Connor and the others know that he helped cause all of this havoc, and they're all sworn to secrecy to keep it that way. If Mrs. Keating is less harsh on grading Oliver's assignments, Connor swears she's just feeling generous.

It's hard to care about much when Connor begrudgingly holds his hand in the halls, though. They go to the movies and out to dinner and on long drives to nowhere until the only thing they can see is the stars. Oliver makes sure Connor's hair isn't perfectly coiffed all the time and that his bag gets dirty and convinces him to eat fast food in his car and makes sure that each part of his life is filled with warmth, even if that means it's not perfect. They're not boyfriends, because Connor "doesn't _do_ boyfriends", but they're together, and Oliver doesn't need grand gestures of romance or his name shouted from the top of a building, he just needs Connor, here, against him, for as long as he can manage.

Connor kisses him, and Oliver loves every second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if it wasn't obvious, the gang somehow found out that Annalise's husband is a dirty gross rotten teacher who preys on innocent girls and they decide to kill him. Socially.


End file.
